The Other Side of Hell: The Rewrite
by Michaenneth
Summary: HarryOC. No slash. The price of the war is too high so Fawkes transports Harry to the past, where he can right the wrongs. However, there is trouble along the way and Harry will have to battle more than just Voldemort..
1. The End of the World

**Disclaimer:** The ownership for this fic is split four ways. Anything you immediately recognise from canon is J.K. Rowling's. For those of you whose memories stretch that far, there are still some tidbits that belong to Egyptian Flame. A bigger percentage belongs to Master Slytherin, and anything you don't recognise at all belongs to me.

Erm, well, this is my first attempt at formal fanfiction writing. I kept bugging Master Slytherin to rewrite this and do a sequel; so much so that, in frustration, he told me to do it. I accepted, and he may just be regretting it Well, I was tentative at first, but he kept encourage me to change more and more things until the chapter got to a point where it's almost unrecognisable to the original. Almost. I expect that'll be the case for a lot of the chapters, so it's definitely worth reading. So thank you, Master Slytherin, not only for letting me tinker with your baby, but also being kind enough to beta read for me and spend ages bouncing ideas with me.

**Chapter I: The End of the World**

Sitting on his bed in the smallest bedroom of Number Four, Privet Drive, staring out the window was Harry Potter. Had anyone cared to watch, they would be wondering why a late teen, little above average height, was sitting on the windowsill, a blank look on his face, eyes red and puffy. It had been three weeks since Harry's return to the Dursley's, and he had only one thing on his mind: the death of his godfather.

Every night for the past three weeks held a reminder, a reminder of his godfather's death. Sirius falling back into the veil in the Department of Mysteries kept repeating itself in his mind every time he closed his eyes. Every night he awoke, shaking and screaming for his only father figure to return to him, screaming for him to avoid Bellatrix's curse. The very thought that he had led his godfather to his death caused tears of shame and guilt to well up uncontrollably. Harry hardly ever left his room, only venturing out to use the bathroom or find something to eat.

Thankfully, the Dursleys left him well alone, in fear of what the Order members would do if Harry were hurt in anyway. A hoot from Hedwig brought him back to the present. He wiped the tears that had formed in his eyes and looked at his beloved owl. Tied to her leg was the letter he had sent to the Order to inform them that he was alright, unopened.

Harry furrowed his brow – perhaps the Order had erected wards that Hedwig was unable to fly through. "What happened, girl?" he said, stroking her sleek, snowy white back. She replied with another hoot and a reproachful look. He untied the letter absently, before helping her into her cage.

As he twirled the letter absent-mindedly, the doorbell rang. He immediately stood upright in his chair; nobody called so late on a Saturday evening. Curious, he peered out of the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the disturber of peace. Other than Uncle Vernon's brand new Mazda, the drive was empty.

Harry moved towards the door, hoping to catch words among the distant rumble of his Uncle's voice. He heard another voice, a man's – perhaps this was a business visit? No, thought Harry, Uncle Vernon would have prepped the family weeks in advance. A new thought sent a shiver of excitement down his spine: had one of the Order come to take him away?

Taking care not to make too much noise, Harry crept to his door and inched it open.

"How _dare_ you!" The tone of contempt in his Uncle's voice made it abundantly clear that it was a member of the Order. "I will call the police this instance unless you leave the premises."

Harry scrambled to the staircase and took the steps two at a time. He went for his pocket as he did so and drew his wand. There was every chance that this was a Death Eater attack, blood wards or no. The sight that met him would have been comical in any other circumstance.

Dumbledore stood in the hallway, quite calmly, in robes the brightest shade of magenta. Uncle Vernon's face was redder than Harry had ever seen it and he was shaking so convulsively Harry briefly thought the headmaster had him under a spell. Aunt Petunia, on the other hand, was ashen and wore an expression of absolute terror – though Harry could not tell whether Dumbledore's attire or Dumbledore himself had induced it. Dudley was nowhere in sight.

"I have not attempted to harm you in any way," said Dumbledore, his voice steady and steely, "and I would remind you both that you owe your safety to Harry."

Harry raised his wand higher and crept towards Dumbledore, or his imposter. Aunt Petunia caught his eye and gasped, causing Dumbledore to turn towards him.

"Ah, Harry, nice of you to join us. Your Aunt and Uncle and I were just discussing you."

"How do I know you're the real Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore smiled appreciatively, as if Harry had given the right answer to a question he had not posed. "An astute observation, Harry, one I am sure you would not have thought of a year earlier. Pose a question an imposter could not possibly know."

"Err...who is your spy for the Order?"

"Severus Snape, but, alas, this knowledge goes beyond these walls. Try another."

"Erm...what did I see in your Pensieve in Fourth Year?"

"A series of trials, as I recall, including those of Ludo Bagman and Bartemius Crouch Junior. We were only moments previous discussing the possibility of you accompanying me on a trip, Harry."

Harry looked between Dumbledore and the Dursleys with a look of incredulity. He found it hard to absorb the surreal nature of the scene in front of him. Dumbledore had come in person and wanted to take him away with him rather than cage him up like a hen. The Dursleys were apparently fighting for him to stay rather than wiping their hands with him, though, Harry guessed, they would have fought the case for beggars, had Dumbledore chosen to defend the opposing side.

"A trip where?" asked Harry, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"You are aware from your History of Magic lessons of the International Confederation of Wizards?" The term was vaguely familiar to him, but from Dumbledore's chocolate frog card rather than History of Magic. He nodded slowly, and Dumbledore continued.

"Now that the Minister has seen fit to acknowledge Lord Voldemort as a threat to the magical world, alerting the international magical community has become of the utmost importance. With this information at hand, a meeting of both magical and non-magical leaders around the world has been called–"

"This is preposterous!" spat Uncle Vernon, his eyes bulging to the size of saucers. "Magical leaders...Voldy-whatsit...it's all twaddle!"

"If only it were, dear man, if only it were."

Dumbledore took a step towards Harry and examined him with an air of sadness. "You have not been eating or sleeping well, Harry. Sirius would not have wanted you to mourn–"

Harry flinched at the sound of his name. "Who knows what he wanted?"

"Mourn?" said Aunt Petunia, her voice constricted. "You mean to say that Black...is dead?"

Dumbledore gazed at Aunt Petunia, a crease forming on his forehead. "Yes...but surely you know this." His melancholic stare returned to Harry. "Why have you not confided in your family, Harry?"

Harry drew himself as high as he could and said, "my family is dead, sir."

Aunt Petunia flinched, but it was Uncle Vernon who said, "after all we did for you, boy. See how ungrateful he is? You know what? Go with this old codger and never darken our door again!"

"I left Harry with you in the hope that you would bury your hatred for your sister," said Dumbledore, fury surrounding his every syllable, though his voice was steady. He was staring directly at Aunt Petunia as he said this. "You showed him no love, you never welcomed him, and in turn he felt nothing but contempt towards you. Petunia, it is in you that I am particularly disappointed. What would Lily have done if your roles were reversed? How would your son be treated if you had died and Lily had lived?"

"She would not have taken him in. She would have forsaken him as she had forsaken her family, as she had forsaken _me_. Potter was more important to her than her own flesh and blood..." Her voice was strained, and full of anguish. Harry could only gape as Dumbledore shook his great head sadly.

"Your jealousy blinded you then, as it does now. It was not in Lily's nature to forsake others, you know this. She had in her heart only love, even for her enemies who despised her kind nature. Had she found Dudley on her doorstep, she would have taken him in and raised him no differently to her own son." His voice suddenly regained its steely edge. "However, I am thankful that Harry was not raised as an equal to Dudley. For he has grown up to be kind, generous and loving as his mother, qualities you robbed your own son of from the day he was born."

Dumbledore turned, quite calmly and walked towards the door, leaving a flustered Uncle Vernon and shell-shocked Aunt Petunia. "Follow me, Harry," he said briskly.

"B-But my stuff..."

"You will not need it. Here." Dumbledore tapped his pyjamas, which instantly became black robes similar to his school ones. He followed Dumbledore out of the door, struggling to keep up with the headmaster's long strides.

Harry did not quite know how he felt. Aunt Petunia had once loved his mother, so much so that the memory of it still affected her. Dumbledore was taking him to an important meeting with the International Confederation of Wizards. But why? He had prohibited Harry from Order meetings last year, why would he now drag him along? Was it for publicity? No, Dumbledore had enough of that. Perhaps to prove a point? That Voldemort could be fought?

As they approached Magnolia Crescent, Dumbledore stopped so abruptly, Harry collided into him. "I apologise, I should have warned you," said Dumbledore, helping Harry to his feet.

"Why are you taking me, sir?"

"Do you not wish to accompany me?"

"Yes, of course, but..."

"Excellent."

"Sir! I think I have a right to know after...after..." Harry trailed off; he didn't want to bring back memories of the Department of Mysteries.

"I admit that there are reasons involved beyond the enjoyment of your company. You became aware of your insurmountable fame the day you stepped into the wizarding world, did you not?" Harry nodded, and suddenly became aware that they were standing in the middle of a Muggle pavement where anybody could see them.

"Sir, don't you think we should leave here as quickly as possible? I mean, the Dursleys might have called the police and we're dressed in robes."

"I have taken the liberty of casting charms to ward against that very possibility. To continue, you are famous not only nationally, but internationally." Harry felt his heart sink. Was there nowhere he could go without being recognised? "You also represent something quite intangible to wizards across the world – hope against all odds. Voldemort, at the very height of his powers, sought you out with all his energy and yet here you are. His principle goal remains your capture and yet you stand beside me, quite unhurt. Your presence at the meeting will remind world leaders of the wizarding community what can be achieved. I will ask the free ministries of the world to unite under one banner, for only then can Voldemort be defeated. As Patrick Henry once said: 'united we stand, divided we fall'. Take my arm, Harry."

Harry hesitantly wrapped his hand around Dumbledore's proffered forearm. It seemed so frail he tried to put a minimal amount of pressure on it. "I will attempt to Apparate us now. It will feel rather awkward since this is your first time. Brace yourself, now..."

Harry felt as though his whole body was being squeezed through a tube no wider than a penny. It was the most uncomfortable form of magical travel yet, he decided – he was quite happy to stick to brooms.

After what felt like an age, he took a gulp of musty air. They stood at the entrance of a vast antechamber, at least the size of the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Unlike the Great Hall, there the unmistakeable air of modernity about it. Perhaps it was the electric lights running the length of the high, golden wall, or perhaps it was the gargantuan screen behind the speaker's podium.

There were rows of curved tables made of the finest Birchwood. Each row was slightly higher than the row in front, giving the room the air of a lecture theatre. Harry looked up and down the rows. There were men of every nationality he could think of; from European men in suits to African leaders wearing the traditional robes. They each wore earpieces and, if Harry squinted, he could make out the name of the country they represented on small plaques in front of them. Everything about the room made him feel very small and out of place.

"I would very much like you to stay where you are, Harry. I will ask you to do something very difficult now, but you _must_ do it – it is of the utmost importance." Dumbledore took a chocolate frog card from his pocket and placed it in Harry's hand. "The International Confederation has gone to great pains to secure this area. However, they underestimate Voldemort – a fatal error as we both know. I will call a vote shortly; the results of which I hope will favour our war efforts. If they do, I have unnecessarily disturbed your Saturday evening, and for that I apologise. If they do not, I will call out to you to join me on the stage." Harry's heart began pounding noticeably harder in his chest. "You need not worry; you will not be expected to make a speech of any kind. If our worst fears are realised and Lord Voldemort does infiltrate the proceedings, you _must_ take the Portkey _immediately_. The activation code is 'No'."

"But I can help..."

"No, Harry! Your mother died for you; walking readily into death would be a poor way to repay her. Take the Portkey and follow the instructions you find there."

"Mr. Dumbledore!" cried a voice somewhere over Dumbledore's shoulders.

"Promise me you will take the Portkey!" Dumbledore was staring at him with such intensity that Harry felt like looking away.

"We have been waiting for ten minutes, Mr. Dumbledore..."

"Promise me!"

"Fine," said Harry with a sigh, "I promise."

"Thank you, my dear man." With that, Dumbledore allowed himself to be guided towards the podium by a tall, burly man, also wearing an earpiece.

Dumbledore took his place on the podium and peered at the gathering of leaders over his half-moon spectacles, betraying nothing but absolute solemnity.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Albus Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwup of the International Confederation of Wizards. I have called the first International Conference for ten years and you will be pleased to note the addition of the non-magical members. I'd like to thank all the leaders who have made it today and shall not bore you with tedious anecdotes, but instead delve straight into the core of the problem; Lord Voldemort, or Tom Riddle if you will."

Harry noted that some of the Muggle leaders shook with silent anger, and that a man he recognised as the British Prime Minister looked practically livid. He frowned at this extraordinary show of emotions – why would they be so offended?

"He, of course, reappeared two years ago, but only began killing last year. He has so far killed about two hundred Muggles, people of the non-magical community, which classes this as an international disaster. For those who are resolute in believing otherwise, I assure you that magic does indeed exist."

Dumbledore waved his wand and a jet of water appeared, before instantly turning to ice. With another flick of his wand, it disappeared.

"For thousands of years, we have stayed hidden, but now, we must join forces to take down this evil. _Most_ leaders have agreed in private that Voldemort is a very real threat, one which should be dealt with immediately. This meeting is to cast a vote officially so that action can be taken against him. If voted so, we will join forces and take down Voldemort's army. However, there is a 'no' vote, Britain will deal with her problems herself, but remember; if he defeats us, he will move onto the rest of the world. Those of you who wish to deal with Voldemort now, while he is relatively weak, put your wands, or hands, in the air."

Harry glanced around and made a silent count. None of the Muggle leaders put their hands up, which already meant that it was a fifty percent 'no'. Some of the wizarding ministers also kept their wands firmly in their pockets. Dumbledore closed his eyes and sighed. Harry knew what this meant and the thought of joining Dumbledore terrified him. His eyes roamed back to the podium, and he waited for Dumbledore to give him some sort of signal. Strangely, however, the headmaster had drawn his wand, his eyes wide with alarm.

"It's a trap!" he yelled. "Polyjuice potion! Disapparate now!"

Just then, all the Muggle leaders began to change appearance. Suits became black hooded robes, faces were hidden by skull masks, and Harry understood why Dumbledore's words had caused such a stir.

"Avada Kedavra!" yelled the Death Eaters in unison and flash of green light illuminated the hall. Harry toppled to the floor – the power of the spells was tangible. He looked up from his position. Bodies lay slumped across the Birchwood. Dumbledore was the only non-Death Eater left alive, and he was surrounded. A figure, taller and thinner than the others was pacing around Dumbledore; Harry was sure it was Voldemort.

Harry's breaths quickened and he could feel his hands getting wet and clammy. What could he do? He couldn't just leave Dumbledore to his death. He silently tried to count the Death Eaters, but there were far too many. He thought he might run towards Dumbledore and trigger the Portkey as they made contact. But no, Voldemort would surely have killed them both by then.

"Watch," cried Voldemort, "as I destroy the leader of the Light tonight. This is the dawn of a new era, an era where power is rewarded, and weakness dealt with accordingly. This man claimed to be the only one I ever feared. Look at you now, Dumbledore." He let out a derisive laugh, cold and high.

Harry met Dumbledore's eyes, which were silently pleading for him to take the Portkey. Harry looked around; surely there was something he could do to distract Voldemort.

"Face it, Dumbledore, I've won! Without their leaders, the wizarding world is doomed. _Avada__Kedavra_"

Harry gasped as the jet of green light rushed at Dumbledore. With the slightest of wand movement for encouragement, the podium rose up and intercepted it, causing it to shatter into a million pieces.

"You will never win, Tom. As long as there are those who believe, as long as the world is full of good people, you will never ever achieve your goals."

"You fool, Dumbledore, you are on the brink of death! _Crucio_"

Dumbledore moved out of the way with the speed and guile of a man half his age. He then raised his wand and sliced it down like a knife. Voldemort dived out of the way before the grey light could reach him.

"Not above a bit of pain, are we? You do not seek to kill me?"

"I have told you many times, Tom, that death is but the next great adventure. You will find out to your downfall that there are things which are far worse than death."

"_Crucio_" said a voice from behind Dumbledore; it was another Death Eater.

Dumbledore had no time to jump out of the way and writhed in pain on the floor. It was all Harry could do to stop himself from calling out. He was torn between obeying Dumbledore's instructions and rushing towards Voldemort.

"You fool! He is mine. Follow orders, or death do you part."

Voldemort raised his wand and wielded it in a slashing motion; a gash appeared at the side of Dumbledore's head and blood started pouring freely from the wound. Harry held the chocolate frog card in one hand, his wand in the other.

Dumbledore winced, but raised his wand again and conjured a flower in the air in front of Voldemort's face. It was a red rose. Harry gaped – had Dumbledore gone mad? Voldemort almost laughed, but it died on is lips as the flower was transfigured into a cage, trapping the Dark Lord. Dumbledore rose to his feet gingerly and started applying various runes onto the cage, with Voldemort frantically whispering counter curses.

"Kill me, then, Dumbledore! End this war if you think you can."

There was abject disappointment in Dumbledore's eyes as he said, "I won't kill you; death deserves better company."

"Death Eaters, attack him!"

The Death Eaters who were watching the exchange sprung into action and started firing Killing Curses.

Dumbledore conjured a mirror and deflected most of the curses back at the caster. He created an explosion and a puff of smoke in which he stunned many more Death Eaters. Finally, he rounded the rest up in a cage similar to that of Voldemort's.

"Pretty impressive, Dumbledore, but I have escaped. I will not delay your death this time; you have foiled me too many times..."

Voldemort had escaped the cage while Dumbledore was duelling with the Death Eaters, and now had his wand pointing straight at Dumbledore's heart.

Harry had made up his mind. Promise or not, he had to save Dumbledore. He rose to his feet and snuck forward, trying to keep his footfalls silent.

"I learned a lot from you. Goodbye, Dumbledore. _Avada__Kedavra_."

It was as if time had stopped. Dumbledore could not block the curse. The green light arced through the air and heralded the last death in the atrium. A 150 year old life was taken away, and the body of the great Albus Dumbledore lay spread-eagled as a centrepiece to the litter of bodies surrounding it.

"NO!" screamed Harry. As he charged forward, wand raised; as Voldemort turned to face him, his smile fading; as the killing curse formed on Harry's lips, he felt a tug at the navel and the atrium around him disappeared.

Harry landed face down, his cheek pressed against a cold, stone floor. Harry lifted his head, and suddenly it hit him; Dumbledore was dead. He could not believe it. He refused to believe it. Dumbledore was...Dumbledore. He was eternal, far too powerful to be killed by Voldemort.

"And what are _you _doing _here_?" snapped a cold, silky voice.

Harry forced himself to his feet and readjusted his glasses. As his eyes became acclimatised to the dim light, he realised where he was; Dumbledore's office. The room seemed strangely small without Dumbledore, as if it were tied to the headmaster's life force.

"For once, I quite agree with Phineas," said another voice, "where is the headmaster?"

Harry looked up at the wall behind Dumbledore's desks, where every headmaster and headmistress was scrutinising him with confusion and puzzlement. "Professor Dumbledore...he...he's dead."

Harry's words were met with a cacophony of gasps and shrieks. There were tears of sadness, proclamations of disbelief and cries of anger; all of which mirrored how Harry himself felt.

"I don't believe it," snapped Phineas, and he stalked out of his portrait.

Fawkes swooped down towards him and landed on his shoulder. He released a long, mournful note that coursed through Harry and soothed him. "I'm sorry, Fawkes," Harry whispered, "I couldn't save him...I'm so sorry."

In response, the phoenix dug its claws into Harry's shoulder, drawing blood. Harry yelped in pain and tried to shake Fawkes off. Was he being punished? Did Fawkes think Harry should have acted sooner? The more he struggled, the firmer the bird's grip. Ignoring Harry, Fawkes lowered his head so that its eye hovered above the wound. A single tear, blood red, trickled down its beak and onto the wound, healing it instantly.

As the tear entered Harry's skin, Harry screamed; it felt like something was choking him. Then, suddenly, it stopped. He felt a comforting presence, quite perceptibly foreign, entering his mind, like it was searching for something. The presence left his mind moments after it came and he found himself face to face with the phoenix.

_I'm extremely sorry, young master__ – _Harry gasped, the ethereal voice was coming from within his own mind –_ but it had to be done in order for you to understand me. The reason I came here is to help __release you from this misery__. My Bonded, __Albus__, was killed a few hours ago by __the Dark Lord, as you know__ He sacrificed his own life so that you were not found and killed.__ Your friends were killed by a separate ambush __at__Grimmauld__ Place. __To save you from immense emotional pain, I have suppressed your feelings for your loved ones – they will remain but a hazy memory unless a powerful force undoes my magic. _

_Muggles__ are in disarray in the aftermath of the Dark Lord's attack. They are unable to explain the mass murder__s__ that __are__ ensuing under the Dark Lord's commands. Dark beasts of every measure are roaming the country, attack __as__ they please. I will not lie to you – the Dark Lord is seeking you with all his might and all his strength. The thousand year-old wards protecting this castle will not stand against the barrage of unhindered attack. The Order is disbanded, the Ministry is disbanded. There is nothing here for you now.__Only death._

The shock of hearing Fawkes' voice directly in his stream of thought wore off, replaced by sadness, which quickly turned to anger, then helplessness and finally fear. The death of his friends was the last straw. He refused to sit down and cry for his losses any longer. If his fate was death, then he would take as many Death Eaters as he could with him. Voldemort had killed everyone he loved and now he would pay.

"Tell me where he is, Fawkes," said Harry, and he was surprised at the steadiness of his voice.

_No. Resistance is futile._

"I've got nothing to lose. Where is he?"

_Albus__ ensured that there was another option open to you; long did he foresee this.__ You __must__ pack your things quickly. You __must__ survive__ young master__ and you __must __defeat the Dark __Lord__ This, not death, is your fate._

"Tell me how."

_There is a letter waiting for you in the top drawer of his desk; read it. Meanwhile, I will collect your possessions before they are destroyed. _

In a flash of red flame, Fawkes was gone and he refocused on the office. His heart was thumping violently in his chest. What had Dumbledore planned for him? He moved towards the desk and opened the top drawer. As Fawkes had predicted, a scroll of parchment lay on top of an assortment of quills and pots of ink. Harry felt it disrespectful to sit at Dumbledore's desk and so unravelled the scroll of parchment and read it standing.

_Dear Harry,_

_If you are reading this, then the meeting did not go as I planned and I forfeit my life__ for it. There is a great deal of information I wished to convey to you, half of which may have been useful, most of which I would have told you in person in the coming school year. Regrettably, this has not been the case._

_Fortunately, fate granted me a great many years, during which I explored many obscure and feared branches of magic – one of which being time. I will not bore you with the details but I, with great help from my friend Nicholas __Flamel__, discovered that the laws of time do not apply to phoenixes. Indeed, they are at liberty to travel to any given period of history, though we had failed to learn why. _

_My plan was always to keep __Voldemort__ at bay while you discover yourself and develop your abilities. At the risk of appearing arrogant, without m__y presence to tether __Voldemort's__ ambition__, and without any form of leadership, I fear the worst for the __wizarding__ world. You are not yet ready to __defeat__Voldemort__. You require more time. I have asked Fawkes, in the event that__ all__ hope is lost, to transport you to a period of history where you will be granted time to develop both as a wizard and a human being. Only then can you challenge __Voldemort__ and escape victorious, as you know you must. _

_I apologise, Harry, for all the wrong that has befallen you. I am sorry for James, my son, and Lily, my daughter, I am sorry for robbing you of your childhood, I am sorry for not taking a greater hand in your education, I am sorry__ for__ failing to protect you from __Voldemort__ time and time again.__ I have much to be sorry for, but also much to be thankful for. I thank you for forgiving me for my mistakes, I thank you for reminding me of your parents and grandparents__ whom I miss dearly, but above all, I thank you for teaching a selfish old codger the power of__ the__ selfless love that you possess in leaps and bounds. _

_And so I come to the end of this letter, and the end of my life. __Do not __mourn__, for I was blessed with a long, fruitful __time on earth__. Instead, learn from my mistakes, and __love, and live. I surrender to you the Order of the Phoenix, for you are its true leader. I surrender to you my personal journal, for it has the knowledge you require. Know always, my boy, that I love you. _

_And so I remain, yours sincerely,_

_Albus__ Dumbledore_

It was all Harry could do to stop himself from welling up with tears.

"I have to kill him," he muttered, teeth gritted, "I have to end this for everyone."

_Yes, you must_ – Harry jumped; it seemed that Fawkes had returned with his trunk and Hedwig, who had presumably not left her cage since Dumbledore's visit to the Dursleys – _are you ready?_

"I'm ready."

_Do you have the journal?_

"Oh, I almost forgot. Err...do you know where it is?"

_Bottom drawer.__ It will appear to be a plain book. _

Harry opened the bottom drawer and expected to have to scrimmage around for it. Thankfully, the drawer contained only one book, one he would have dismissed had Fawkes not given him its description. Harry placed both the journal and the letter in his pocket.

_Steady yourself._

Fawkes flew to Harry and settled down on his shoulder once more. In a flash of flames, Harry, Fawkes, Hedgwig and his trunk disappeared. The experience was like nothing Harry had ever imagined. It was as if he was being covered by a warm, soothing blanket while hurtling at two hundred miles an hour; it was so unsettling that Harry realised why Dumbledore hardly ever used it as a viable method of transportation.

They appeared, finally, in a place of such stunning beauty that Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. They were in what appeared to be a valley plain alive with dense vegetation. Towering trees surrounded him and formed a ceiling for as far as he could see. Amongst the harmony of chirping birds, Harry could hear the trickling of water. His eyes snapped to the right where he found a small stream, no wider than Privet Drive, meandering its way past him and into the distance. He turned to Fawkes; still in awe of the place they appeared in and asked him where they were.

_We are in a sacred place that belongs to us, the phoenix race. A phoenix lives here __un__til they mate with another phoenix or__, in rare circumstances,__ bond with a human. You are the only __human__ to __have __come here, __in light of your__ circumstances. We will meet with the Elder__ and__ send you to another time__ where you can study and defeat the Dark __Lord_

"Are you going to come with me, Fawkes?"

_No__ young master, I__ a__m __still bound by my link to __Albus__ Slowly, over a great length of time, the link may fade, but I will never again bond to another human.__ You will be accompanied __by__ my __sister__ Flame. __Sh__e__ was__ chose__n__ to bond with you__ and found you worthy. _

As soon as he uttered those words, another phoenix appeared in flash of blue flames, a phoenix was very different to Fawkes. It had a light blue peak and a body of a wonderful marine blue. Its feathers caught the sunlight and sparkled.

"Why is Flame not gold and red?" asked Harry as he admired the new phoenix.

_The__ different colo__u__rs __of__ the phoenix race correspond to the different colours of fire__ young master. Each phoenix __lays an egg of a different colour__. No __two phoenixes__share__ the same colo__u__r._

Flame hovered down so that she was at the same level as Harry's face, and looked him in the eye. Harry felt his body go warm, and once again felt a presence inside his head. As quickly as it began, Flame broke eye contact and settled on Harry's other shoulder. Harry felt a tingle pass through his body. Craning his neck, he glanced up at Flame and noticed a lightning bolt scar on her forehead.

"How?" gasped Harry.

_When a phoenix bond__s__ with a human, the human gains something from the phoenix and vice versa. You got your colo__u__red hair from Flame and she received the white lightning bolt__ scar__ on the top of her head._

"What hair?" He conjured a mirror and looked at it. His hair had a blue streak through it, which Harry thought looked good despite the oddness of the idea.

"Oh! Thank you, Flame," said Harry, turning to admire Flame once more.

_You are__ quite__ welcome, Harry. _

While Flame's voice was just as ethereal as Fawkes', it was perceptibly higher, enough for Harry to conclude that Fawkes was a male.

_It's time for both of you to leave__ young master. I will summon the Elder to perform the ceremony._

Fawkes disappeared for a few moments, before reappearing with another phoenix, much larger than the either Fawkes or Flame, with a plumage of brilliant green feathers. Fawkes asked Harry to ready himself and opened his mouth along with the elder phoenix. They began trilling a low, solemn tune that filled Harry with hope and excitement.

Harry wrapped one arm around his trunk and grabbed Hedwig's cage with the other, while Flame settled on his shoulder. As the phoenixes continued to sing, Harry began to glow.

_Good luck, young master. __We will not see each other again._

As the last syllable died away, he was engulfed in a ball of blue flame and he entered the darkness, or the light.

**AN:** Wow, so a lot of changes in the end. Both Master Slytherin and I agreed to write Tonks out amongst other things. I'll be trying to bring a lot of the scenes at the top of chapters towards Harry's perspective and add to them. There are a few characters I wanted to know a lot more about, so I'm going to take this opportunity to develop them. Until next chapter...


	2. The Forming of the Order

**Disclaimer:** The ownership for this fic is split four ways. Anything you immediately recognise from canon is J.K. Rowling's. For those of you whose memories stretch that far, there are still some tidbits that belong to Egyptian Flame. A bigger percentage belongs to Master Slytherin, and anything you don't recognise at all belongs to me.

**Chapter II: The Forming of the Order**

The blue flame died down, revealing a small shop on a cobbled street Harry recognised as Diagon Alley. He squinted up at a worn sign that read 'Florean Fortescue's'. Surely not, Harry thought. He remembered the shop as a luscious, inviting emporium, not the impoverished shack that lay before him.

"What time period are we in, Flame?" Harry mumbled, fearing the worst. He glanced over his shoulder and stifled a gasp; Flame had gone, and she had taken Hedgwig and his trunk with her.

I suppose I can trust her, thought Harry. Rather than walk the length of Diagon Alley, gaping like a Muggleborn first year, thereby attracting attention towards himself, he decided to enter Florean's and work out when he was from the clientele.

As Harry stepped inside, he was surprised to find the parlour buzzing with conversation. Almost every grubby table was taken by witches and wizards from all walks of life.

"...and Dumbledore's on the prowl for _another_ Defence professor," he heard a stately-looking witch proclaim.

"He better not appoint another _Mudblood_," sneered her companion, "I can scarcely believe the amount of riff-raff that worms its way into that school. I sent my own son to Durmstrang..."

So that narrows it down to the past fifty years, thought Harry, moving on before the witches caught his glare.

"I am Florean, young sir, how may I help you?"

It was all Harry could do to stop himself jumping out of his skin. Standing before him was a younger, blonder Florean Fortescue. Without wrinkles lining his face, he appeared strangely juvenile, though it was possibly his boyish grin that gave Harry that impression.

"Are you alright, sir?" asked Florean, the slightest trace of suspicion worming its way into his expression.

"Erm, yeah," said Harry quickly, chastising himself for not being careful enough, "can I have..."

"You mean 'may I have', sir."

"Sorry?"

"'May I have', not 'can I have'. It is nothing, sir, merely a grammatical correction. I should not have overstepped my boundaries. Would you like anything to order? I highly recommend the Screaming Sundae."

"May I have...three scoops of regular vanilla ice cream, and a copy of today's _Prophet_, please?" said Harry, hoping his face had not betrayed his embarrassment.

"You mean yesterday's _Prophet_?" said Florean, whose suspicion was now plain as his bright yellow robes.

"Sorry?"

"It's Sunday today, sir, and those lucky bastards get a day off. You're not from round here are you, Mr..."

"Po- Parker," gushed Harry, "Harry Parker. And no, I only very recently moved to the area. I'm very disorientated from the journey and would really appreciate an ice cream and yesterday's _Prophet_."

"Then don't let me stand in your way, Mr. Parker. Take a seat over here–" He pointed at a table made for four people near the entrance of the parlour "–and I'll send your orders over in a second. Pleased to meet you, and have a nice day!"

Harry mumbled his thanks and took the proffered seat. Not three minutes later, a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and his ice cream appeared at his table with a 'pop'. Harry's eyes bulged at the date at the top of the _Prophet_, almost spitting out the spoon of ice cream he had just consumed. It read: _"__Saturday 15__th__ August 1976"_.

Harry stared blankly at the date for a few seconds before the full ramifications began to sink in. 1976. His parents were alive, probably at Hogwarts. So was Sirius. So was everyone in the Order. Had the Order even been formed? Voldemort was on his climb to power, or perhaps he had already reached the height of his powers. Judging by the state of Fortescue's shop and the xenophobic old ladies, it was a distinct possibility.

Harry did not know how to feel. On one hand, there would be people he knew around him, he might be able to save people like the Prewett brothers and there was no way Voldemort was as powerful as he had been when he killed Dumbledore. On the other, he would be rushed for time, Dumbledore may suspect him and he absolutely could not grow attached to his parents, or Sirius, or Remus, or anyone. Very soon he would be a target for Voldemort, and he refused to be the one to drag them into the war. Plus, thought Harry, they aren't even my parents yet, and Sirius isn't my Godfather.

Harry's eyes roamed down to the headline. The majority of the paper was taken up by a suburban, detached home far grander than the Dursley's house at Privet Drive. There were a handful of wizards dressed in identical red robes, talking amongst themselves, occasionally gazing up at the Dark Mark that was looming in the night sky. Harry's heart sunk. So it had begun.

_**Mysterious Murder Number Three**_

_The Ministry was in disarray last night as the third high-profile murder was reported earlier in the evening.__ Marlon Starbuck, 46, was found dead in his Berkshire retreat; early reports suggest that multiple __Cruciatus__ Curses were applied before a final Killing Curse._

_Marlon Starbuck, a member of the __Wizengamot__, had recently published an influential paper outlining the benefit of __Muggleborns__ to the __wizarding__ economy. A kind, popular man, his death has caused outrage among all __sections of the community._

_Eleanor Fielding, 21, said: "he taught me Defence at Hogwarts, he was ever so nice, always there for his students. He'll be sorely missed."_

_Aurors__ believe that the murders are linked, but are still unable to find any evidence of magical signature. __The strange, unidentified mark that also hung over the houses of __Lobatius__ Bogart and Ronald __McCutchin__ has added a sick twist to the murders, one that remains unsolved by top experts worldwide._

_"I must ask for calm at this time," said Minister for Magic, Millicent Bagnold. "The Ministry is using all its resources to track down this murderer and bring him to justice. In the meantime, I advise extra security and vigilance." The Minister failed to rule out a possible Dark Lord rise, with many experts pointin__g to unusual giant activity._

_The investigation continues._

_For possible suspects, turn to page 5..._

"Can I sit here?" said a small, timid voice. Without looking up, Harry grunted affirmatively and turned to page five.

_**Murderer or Mass Murderer?**_

_The _Prophet_ has gathered evidence from a variety of sources, some of which at the heart of the investigation, and has compiled a list of suspects._

Harry skimmed past most of them, but the final two caught his attention.

_Edward Rosier – a man who has already served an Azkaban sentence for assault, Rosier is no stranger to breaking the law. He has a history saturated with the Dark Arts, and has reported to have become fanatical during his stay at Azkaban._

_Voldemort__ – the__ true__ name of this wizard is unknown (our sources__ refused to speak his name aloud,__ referr__ing__ to him only as 'He Who Must Not Be Named). He is said to have travelled the world, plundering cities of knowledge of the most dangerous Dark Magic known to man. Hooded and cloaked, we are told he is not fully human and is potentially the most dangerous man alive today. Unfortunately, there is no way to confirm this without __"__looking for death itself__"_

"I think it might be Rosier." Harry ripped his eyes from the page and concentrated on the person sitting opposite him. He was around Harry's age, quite short, with the air of a boy who had not outgrown his childhood puppy fat. His yellowing front teeth peeked out of his slightly parted mouth. His sandy hair was limp and unloved, his blue eyes watery and nervous.

Calm down, thought Harry, just calm down. He's still a child, he hasn't betrayed anyone yet. It took all Harry's might not to whip out his wand and cast the most painful curses he knew, for the boy in front of him was Peter Pettigrew.

"Are you alright?" said Wo- Pettigrew.

"Yeah, just remembered something. What were you saying?"

"It must be Rosier," said Pettigrew awkwardly, "he hasn't been seen for ages. And James says he's evil to the core."

Harry's eyes darted around the emporium, and he desperately tried to think of an excuse to leave without the reason being made obvious. For that to happen, he had to engage in conversation with Pettigrew for at least another couple of minutes. "But is he powerful enough to pull something like this off?"

"Oh...I dunno." Harry forced himself to look at Pettigrew again. There was an air of such discomfited apprehension around the boy that Harry was almost suspicious that Pettigrew knew about Harry being the Boy-Who-Lived. It was then that Harry spotted a tall, thin-lipped man with sandy hair sitting a few tables away, staring straight at them. Superficially, he bore some resemblance to Pettigrew, but he held himself with such confidence and presence that Harry was sure he was a powerful Pureblood.

"That's my, err, d-dad." Harry glanced back at Pettigrew. He was smiling timidly, but there was something behind his smile, something Harry could not quite work out.

"He told you to come and talk to me, didn't he?"

"Ye- I mean, no! I sat here because I wanted to. He was, err, annoying me – you know what dads are like..." Pettigrew gave Harry a watery smile.

"Actually, I don't," said Harry, glancing over at Pettigrew's father.

"Did your dad run away, too?"

"What?"

Pettigrew's eyes widened and he began to ring his hands together nervously. "Err, i-it's just that m-my friend's dad, err, left h-his family. You know...he's alright...used to it, you know..."

"Is that not your dad?" asked Harry, as the man approached, his cleft chin jutting out.

"Is anything wrong?" he said, taking the chair next to Pettigrew.

Harry glanced from Pettigrew, who was now little more than a shaking wreck, to his supposed father, who shot him a look Harry knew well – it was the look Lucius Malfoy usually reserved for him. That look alone told Harry all he needed to know – this man was not Pettigrew's father.

"No, nothing's wrong. Me and Wo- Peter were just talking." Pettigrew's eyes were flicking from Harry to his relative with such frequency that Harry was sure the pupils would disappear altogether.

"Oh, please don't stop on my account. I am Julius Pettiggrew, in case you were wondering, Peter's father." Harry shook the proffered hand quickly as he could.

"Harry Parker. I was just telling Peter that I need to go to Gringott's. There's something urgent I need to deal with."

Harry rummaged around his pockets, hoping he had some spare Knuts to pay for the ice cream. Quick as a flash, Julius Pettigrew had placed a Sickle on the table. "Please, Mr. Parker, let me take care of it."

"I really don't..."

"I do insist. It's only a Sickle after all." He laughed gruffly.

Harry realised he would not win, and thanked the man. He stood up, looking forward to ridding himself of both Pettigrews. His heart sunk as Mr. Pettigrew stood simultaneously.

"Would it trouble you if Peter kept you company? I have some important business to attend to and his mother-" Pettigrew jumped "-would have my ear off if she knew he was wondering around alone."

Harry, not knowing how else to escape Pettigrew's company, grunted affirmatively, to which Mr. Pettigrew smiled, the warmth never reaching his cold, dark eyes. "You are too kind, Mr. Parker, and it was a pleasure to meet you."

Harry nodded and swept from the shop, Pettigrew following in his wake.

_Harry._

"Yes?" said Harry, before realising the ethereal voice belonged to Flame.

"I didn't say anything," said Pettigrew.

"Don't worry; I thought I heard someone saying my name."

_I apologise for startling you. I advise you do not reply to me in the conventional fashion._

Harry looked around, hoping to catch sight of his familiar, but there was no sign of her.

_You will not see me if I do not want to be seen. I assumed you did not wish to attract unnecessary attention towards yourself. Now, while you were orientating yourself, I have been dealing with some of your more pressing matters..._

"You didn't have to," said Harry, before realising his mistake. A passing couple shot him an odd look, and Pettigrew was now more than a little discomfited.

"Are you alright, Harry?"

"Yeah, fine."

_I did warn you. Now, I have dealt with your financial situation for you. __Your money has been transferred to a Parker account at __Gringotts__ They will have no recollection of a time where the Parker vault did not exist.__ I have deposited your key and money pouch into your trunk. _

What's a money pouch?

_It's container of money charmed to link directly __to__ your account. Any small purchases can be made via your money pouch. All you have to do is hold __a hand over it and say clearly how much money you need. It will not dispense more than five Galleons, however. Now, if you check your pocket, you will find enough money to last you the rest of the day. I will be following you all day._

Thank you so much, Flame, you're brilliant.

_There is no need for thanks. You would be well advised__ to start talking to your...friend – he's beginning to grow agitated._

"So, Peter," said Harry, startling Pettigrew, who had been staring at the shop windows they were passing, "why does your Uncle pretend to be your dad?"

Peter jumped, his mouth open. "He-he's..."

"I was raised by my Uncle and even I can tell you for a fact that he isn't your dad."

"You were raised by your Uncle?"

"Yes, and my Aunt. My parents died when I was a baby. What about you?"

Pettigrew glanced over his shoulder anxiously. "My dad...he walked out on us when I was born. My mum..she's...she's not with us either."

"Oh," said Harry, "I'm sorry."

Silence fell between them, and Harry felt something he never thought he would towards his parent's would-be betrayer: sympathy.

The shopping trip passed without event. Pettigrew slowly opened up and chatted enthusiastically to Harry, who listened with interest – trying to find out as much as he could about the time. Apparently, Pettigrew worshipped both James and Sirius – their names cropped up every few minutes. He pointed out some of the 'evil Slytherins' as he put them, and regaled Harry with tales of Marauder triumphs over Snape and his band of friends. Harry himself contributed very little, which did not faze his counterpart; indeed, Pettigrew seemed to revel in the attention.

Harry bought some new robes, a selection of books and owl treats for Hedwig amongst other things. Morning turned to afternoon as Harry and Pettigrew left Flourish and Blotts.

"...and then Snivellus _actually_ thought James had cut all his hair off!" cried Pettigrew, almost in tears of laughter. Harry smiled weakly – his mother was right; his father was a bully.

"What's your home life like?" said Harry, steering the subject away from either Sirius or James. Peter's laughed died, and was almost instantly replaced by a scowl.

"My Uncle...well, he knows what he wants, and knows how to get it."

"Sounds like my Uncle..."

_There is something urgent for you to consider, Harry. You must say goodbye to Peter now._

"Listen, Peter, it was nice to meet you. It seems like I missed out on Hogwarts."

Harry shook Pettigrew's hand, who seemed genuinely upset at having to part ways. "Is it true you're powerful?" the boy blurted out. Harry blinked, and Pettigrew put a hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry, s-so sorry, d-didn't mean-"

"Who told you I'm powerful?"

"N-nobody...it's nothing-"

"Peter, who told you I was powerful?"

Pettigrew stared at the floor, and mumbled something that sounded like 'uncle'.

"Maybe your Uncle should get you to talk to who you want to talk to, rather than who he thinks can protect you. Take care, Peter."

Harry strode quickly from a gaping Pettigrew and turned left into an empty side-alley. He did not know how he felt about the boy. In many ways, he was very much like Neville – easily lead, highly unremarkable, with difficult family history. Harry could see exactly why Sirius and James put up with him. He could also understand why Sirius had suggested him as a secret keeper; had he not known what was to come, Harry would have also suggested Peter.

_But it may not come._

Harry looked up at Flame, who was perched on an empty barrel. "What do you mean?"

_Forces have been set in motion, things have already changed. Perhaps there will be no betrayal._

"But it was only an afternoon, what could possibly have changed?"

_Peter __was not meant to speak to you. He was meant to spend the afternoon being told why he would amount to nothing by his Uncle. Instead, he met you and you instilled in him some confidence. You saw today part of the reason why Peter Pettigrew became a Death Eater. _

"How do you know so much about him?"

_His eyes told me. __Now, I have been instructed by Fawkes to take you somewhere special, and for that to happen, you must wear your special cloak._

Harry spotted his beloved Invisibility Cloak beside the barrel Flame had made a temporary home. As he wrapped it around himself, he wondered where he was being taken.

_Dumbledore left to you the Order of the Phoenix, Harry. It follows that you should be present at its inception._

Harry's cry of surprise turned into that of discomfort as he was enveloped in blue flame, and the familiar, uncomfortable feeling of phoenix travel, or flaming as he began calling it, engulfed him.

The flames died away, revealing almost complete darkness. The light came from a thin, rectangular slither that could only be a door.

_Do not enter. Your cloak will not save you from detection in there._

Harry moved closer to the door, trying to make as little noise as possible. The murmuring became clearer as he moved towards it, until he could hear exactly what was being said.

"...and this may seem like a peculiar collection of people," said a voice Harry instantly recognised as Dumbledore's, "but the thread that runs through it is that I trust everybody in this room. The reason why I have called you all to my home is that I have finally solved a riddle, if you can excuse an old man of his puns.

"For many weeks now, I have put a great deal of effort in helping the Ministry ascertain the man behind the murders. It is with regret that I must inform you all that it is as first feared; Tom Riddle, or Lord Voldemort as he is currently known, is the perpetrator."

"But how can you be sure?" Harry was left with little doubt that this was Professor McGonagall.

"For all his guile, he made a grave error. Tom Riddle visited me a few hours previous, asking for the job of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor..."

"He wanted to _teach_?"McGonagall, again. "At _Hogwarts?_ Is he utterly mad?"

"Riddle has always called Hogwarts his home, and what little love he has is attached to the castle. I have no doubt that he wished to harm future generations, and swing them towards his beliefs and I therefore rejected his offer. While he was with me, I examined him and found his magical signature to match those found at the crime scenes."

"Who is this Tom Riddle character?" Harry did not recognise the speaker.

"Tom Riddle was Head Boy at Hogwarts many years ago. He was a gifted student, one who became disillusioned by his immense talent and heritage. Shortly following his graduation, he seemingly disappeared, and it seems he has now revealed himself."

"Why don't you get us on him, then, Albus?"

"Unfortunately, Alastor, the Ministry do not believe in apprehending a former Head Boy without concrete evidence. If they were found to be mistaken, the public would be sure to show their displeasure. It is for this reason that I have called this meeting."

"So you want us to take him out?"

"Not quite, Dorcas, my dear. I feel that there may be hope for Tom, yet. He may, over time, grow stronger emotionally and realise his wrongs. At this present time, he is quite dangerous. I have gathered information that has led me to believe he is forming a terrorist organisation intent on destroying the very society in which we live. We must stop Tom from destroying the wizarding and Muggle worlds in his anger. We must take the necessary action for ourselves to do what the Ministry cannot." There was a mixed response to Dumbledore's speech, some roared in agreement, while other murmured angrily.

"We are doing as much as we can! We're Aurors, not superhumans!"

"I understand this, Henry, but you must admit that the Ministry itself, not the Aurors, are not failing in their responsibility to the wizarding world. I have warned them of Tom, and of what he can achieve, but they are blind to all they cannot see."

"I, for one, do not think that the Aurors are doing as much as they can, Potter included."

Harry jumped, before realising that they weren't talking about him. Clearly, there was another Potter – perhaps his grandfather? He did not remember seeing him in the photograph, though. The man Dumbledore called Henry interrupted Harry's thoughts.

"I didn't recall anyone asking for _your_ opinion, Prewett. Just because you got kicked out of Auror academy, doesn't mean we all share your clouded resentment of the authority."

"Calm down now, Henry, Gideon," said Dumbledore firmly. "We must work together. Now is not the time for past resentment to overcome our will to find Tom and bring him to justice."

"What should we do, then?"

"All in good time, my dear Marlene, all in good time. Now, we need to come up with a name for this motley band of fellows. I envisage that we will be working together very closely in the coming weeks, and it would not do to refer to each other by name in great institutes such as the Ministry, now would it? Are there any suggestions?"

"Anti-Riddle Committee," piped up a high voice. This caused a few laughs, and Harry heard Dumbledore himself chuckling appreciatively.

"Admirable though the name is, I was hoping for one which did not divulge our aim, Dorcas."

"What about something to do with that Phoenix of yours, Albus," said Alastor.

"Phoenix Warriors," suggested Henry. Dumbledore was silent for a moment before disagreeing.

"Hmm, fine as it is, it still hints at our goals."

"How about the Order of the Phoenix?"

"That's pretty good, Edgar," said Henry, "I vote the Order of the Phoenix." There was a general murmur of assent.

"Yes, it's certainly practical; we can refer to each other as the Order and nobody will know what we're talking about."

"Quite right, Arabella. Rebecca, you have yet to speak. Would you care to share your thoughts?" A woman Harry presumed was Rebecca chuckled dryly.

"What difference will it make; we'll become the Order of the Phoenix anyway." It was now Dumbledore's turn to chuckle.

"Oh, what's wrong now, Becky?" asked Henry, a strain of exasperation in his voice.

"Albus, some of us have children, and though James may be infatuated with his own talent, in reality, he is a helpless child. Don't fidget, Henry, darling, you know it's true. But what if one of us is Riddle's next victim? What if James gets killed because we're in this Order? I refuse to risk the life of my son. If that weren't enough, we also have responsibility of Sirius most holidays, and though he's a dear, he's very reckless. What if they jump into a fight with one of these terrorists and get themselves killed?"

Harry's heart raced. Unless he was very much mistaken, this Rebecca was his grandmother, and Henry was, by association, his grandfather. Being this close to them was exilherating; it was all Harry could do to stop himself bursting himself. He desperately wanted to see what they looked like.

_You will have time for that later, Harry, focus now._

"I promise," said Dumbledore, "that I will not send you both into the same battle, and that goes for yourself and Sarah too, Edgar, and any other married couple that joins the Order. Let me assure all of you that you will not all be involved in altercation with Riddle and his followers. There are some more delicate and dangerous matters which will require specialist skill. Some of you will give us inside information on possible Riddle sympathisers. Some will be examining the sources of his funding. Some will be giving us inside information on the Ministry. Some will be recruiting people who they think are worthy.

"Alastor, Henry; you will be in charge of recruitment from the Ministry. Gideon, Fabian, you will be in charge of recruiting from outside of the Ministry. Edgar, we need the same information the Unspeakables have been given…"

"Dumbledore, I've been sworn to secrecy! They will discover my betrayal with absurd ease and my punishment may involve Azkaban."

"My dear Edgar, I know just the spell. Dorcas, you will train new recruits on fighting technique, Henry, your spell knowledge will come in use here, too. Hagrid, I think you know what you need to do."

"Aye, I'll get righ' on it, Professor Dumbledore, sir."

"Rebecca, you need to provide us information on what the Minister herself is up to, and I believe that your excellent Occlumency and Legilimency prowess will come in very handy for training possible spies – we cannot underestimate Tom, after all. Does anyone else have any other issues they wish to raise? Yes, Dorcas?"

"How will we communicate over such long distances? You're always at Hogwarts, Albus, and we can't Apparate or anything."

"I am glad you asked," said Dumbledore. "I have devised an excellent strategy, with great help from Minerva. Here we have chocolate frog cards. Please, take one each."

There was a small pause and a rustle which told Harry Dumbledore was handing out the cards.

"You're absolutely barking," sighed Rebecca.

"I daresay I am," said Dumbledore. "These cards do not contain a famous witch or wizard inside, but a blank canvass. If you wish to communicate, then you say the name of the person involved and, if they wish to speak with you, their face will appear, allowing the briefest of conversations."

"Ingenious," said Edgar.

"Use them well, preferably only in emergencies. They will grow hot, so carry them around at all times. If that is all, then I will meet you all at the same time next week, unless there any emergencies arise."

_Where to, Harry?_

Take me to the second floor bathroom at Hogwarts, thought Harry.

_If you are sure..._

The last Harry saw of Dumbledore's house was the slither of light growing before he disappeared in a flash of blue flames.

**AN:** I think I'm going to die from exhaustion. So many changes, and now they're done, I wish I didn't bother consulting the original chapter as frequently as I did – there is barely any resemblance ('cept the last bit of course). Yeah...Pettigrew...I kind of wanted to explore why he became the traitor without plundering the character too much; it always annoys me when authors completely ignore him.

Hey you! Yeah, you! I can see you trying to close this window! You may as well review. After all, it only takes a few seconds :) Go on, you know you want to...


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